


All Hell Breaks Loose

by Nopride4531



Category: Red Dead Redemption
Genre: Angst, Everything Hurts, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I'm so sorry, Protective Arthur, Sad Cowboys, Shippy only if you squint, Tragedy, You can pry Protective!Arthur from my cold. dead. hands.
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-13
Updated: 2018-11-13
Packaged: 2019-08-23 07:18:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 442
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16614401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nopride4531/pseuds/Nopride4531
Summary: John is captured by the O'Driscoll's... but when Arthur and Dutch find him, that's when the trouble really starts.





	All Hell Breaks Loose

It happened too quickly for Arthur to process. One second, he and Dutch were walking toward John, shoulders sagging as they saw him relatively unharmed, the next–Arthur caught sight of the O’Driscoll.

“John,  _behind you!”_  He screamed, hand already on his revolver and pulling it out of its holster. 

Too late. His warning came  _too goddamn late_. Arthur watched as John’s expression went from relieved to confused, then watched as the knife sliced through his back. John’s entire body locked, spine going rigid as the shock of the foreign object set in. Behind him, the O’Driscoll smiled.

The air fled Arthur’s lungs in one massive gust as he surged forward, gun in hand. There was no way he could shoot without hitting John, though, and he didn’t even try. Dimly, he was aware of Dutch shouting beside him, keeping pace with him as easily as if they were the same age, but it all sounded far away. Unimportant. John was the only thing that mattered. 

A strangled cry left John’s lips as the O’Driscoll twisted the blade, then wrenched it free before turning and fleeing. Dutch raced after him, despite not wearing a weapon. Arthur didn’t bother, completely forgetting about the gun in his hand as he lunged toward John, who’d fallen to his knees. The revolver slipped through Arthur’s fingers and sank into the muddy ground. Forgotten.

John pitched forward–would’ve fallen face-first into the muck if Arthur hadn’t caught him. 

“Marston–” He began, then broke off as John sagged against him. Arthur was barely ready for the dead-weight, but held on tight. “Marston. John–hey!” He pulled him close, head on his shoulder, right hand reaching for the wound. “Alrigh’, alrigh’ lemme see…”

Blood–too much of it–gushed through Arthur’s fingers the second he covered the wound. He felt his heart plummet.

“…Arthur…?” John’s weak voice reached his ears, soft as a candle flame, and Arthur pulled back to look at him.

“Eyes on me, boy,” he commanded. “Ain’t nothin’, you hear? Just a scratch.”

John slowly blinked–too slow for Arthur’s liking. He reached his non-bloodied hand up and grasped the back of John’s neck, forcing him to meet his eyes.

“You’ll be fine.” Arthur gave him a small, reassuring smile, the smile that only John could elicit. “We’ll get you fixed up, an’ Abigail’ll give you hell for bein’ such an idiot, okay?”

The only response–and it wasn’t a response at all–Arthur got was the tension leaving John’s body in waves. His head lolled, chin tipping downward.

“Marston?” Arthur desperately gripped his face, ready to search his eyes, but they were closed. “…John?”

Nothing.


End file.
